


Wake Field Revisited

by Laine_Lan



Category: Kaufield
Genre: M/M, University AU, school boys, the Last Door - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine_Lan/pseuds/Laine_Lan
Summary: A recollection of Johan Kaufmann, recalling his young and passionate university life with "mein friend"  John Wakefield.





	1. Chapter 1

The burden of my heart was close to the density of water, waving and trembling when I pushed the old door. The last door I’ve closed before.

I’ve opened the door, first with Wakefield more than thirty years ago on a rainy day, when the daisy growing under my window was soaked with the ceaseless drizzle, trying vainly to catch the last scent of summer and died eventually into the raw dirt. That day, too, I was lost in my original intension and even my long-cherished desire.  
My animal betrayed me, in that cell of Christ Church.  
“Hell,” he said when he put on his clothes, “I’m not a Christian, I forgot to warn you.” I opened my mouth but I did’t know how to respond. So he continued, “I hope you don’t mind.”  
“No.” That was the only English word I could recall, “No.” I repeated idiotically. 

I noticed Wakefield long before I met him. It was the first term since my matriculation. The smoke of gunpowder seemed never faded away. I fled from Germany to the west of Europe with my only aunt, and we settled in England where I met my first friend in University. I noticed Wakefield occasionally but I remembered him because of his pale golden hair. I had never seen that colour before. “You would never be a painter, even a photo taker. You have no talent of art.” My mother told me once, when I was scratching a portrait on the back yard’s ground in a very young and peaceful age. To refute my mother, I spent a couple of mouths proving that I can be an artist. But she was right, then I gave up.  
I didn’t touch a paintbrush since the war began, and I didn’t try to match a colour until I saw his hair. How could I describe that, egg-shell? Porcelain? Or chiffonish? It was close to champagne but far to gold; near to silver but away from brass. They were like ghost white under the moon light. Well, yes, the first time I met him, Wakefield was trying to escape from our school by climbing over the iron railings when I failed to light my secret cigarette at night.  
“B…Blast.” That was the first curse I used in England, “What the devil are you doing here?”  
“You will help me, won’t you?”  
“What?”  
“Help me, watch out the ghosts. I’ll flee.”  
“The ghosts?”  
“Bloody perfects!”  
The perfects, I overheard them in freshmen’s club. Juniors complained that they were always wandering around the schoolhouse and somehow cropped up when you were trapped with dirty works. Though that sounded horrible, I can not remember why I was smoking there. But I helped him anyway, by letting him step on my shoulder and watched him perched on the opposite side of grassland.  
“Will you wait here for me? The houseman will tear me up if I was caught.”  
“Where’re you going?”  
“Can’t tell.”  
“Then no.”  
He stared at me with a pair of splendid lime-green eyes and said, “Lovely.” Then flew away.  
I waited here, holding my stupid unlit cigarette. But I waited here, because I thought I was still young and passionate. 

I wished I had asked his name.

 

 

tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course we were caught, fortunately by a senior, neither a houseman nor the perfect, and he even didn’t report us. I refused to answer why I was still there when Wakefield came back alone, with his coat hanging on his arm and a loosing tie around his neck.   
I was bloody startled when he jumped down and hit the ground beside me.  
“Fickdich!”  
“Blast!”  
“Oi! What are YOU doing here!”  
It was too late to lie doggo when the dazzlingly light of torch nailed us on the rose wall. I was breathless. The senior stepped forward, but suddenly a slimmer figure stood in front of me, making a shadow where I could gradually find my vision. He stood there, faced the senior, hand back, fingers curled, and the end of his hair were waving in the mid-summer night’s wind.   
“How charm, Alexandre, nice to meet you again. Cigarette? ”  
I was awake, so I took the case and crammed it into Wakefield’s palm as quick as possible. He picked out one and delivered to the blonde, but the senior shook his head.  
“Well now, go back to your maison, both of you. I won’t let you off next time.”  
That Alexandre left. Wakefield turned to me and threw back my cigarette case. I caught it with flusteredness, and wiped the scratch with my cuff.   
Another young boy crouched by my side and asked, “Is that your pater’s gift?”  
“Rather.” I answered without looking him.  
“He is a soldier?”  
“He was.”  
“Oh,” He stood up, “I’m sorry.”  
“Never mind, he died before I could remember his face.” I put the silver case back into my pocket, “Wait, how do you know he won’t ask for a cigarette?”  
“Sorry?”  
“I mean, you just took my cigarette case without my permission.”  
“You gave it to me, sweet.”  
Sweet?  
“But you regarded it as bribery!”  
“Devitt won’t let him have a cigarette.”  
“Devitt?”  
“None of our business, isn’t it?”  
I saw him lit one of my cigarettes which I even had no aware when he stole it. Till now, I still can recall that night when we knew each other freshly for the very first time; that night where I had not realized that there, in my future, would be harked back as an illusory field with tears, moans and regrets.  
He likes to play.  
“So, what’s your name, Mr.Kaufmann?”  
“Johan. How you…”  
“It is carved on your cigarette case.”  
“Alright. How about you, Mr.Gypsy thief?”  
“Na. Wakefield. John Wakefield.”  
He grabbed my hand and helped me back on my feet.   
“You are such a delicate Kraut.”  
“How dare you…”  
“You burst into German when startled by me.” His lips curled evilly. “Go home, my friend, I won’t let you see a doctor.”  
“I AM a doctor.” I answered back.  
He left me with a smiling “good night” and a minute later, I got back to my room. That night I stared at the bear ceiling, wondering whether I was poisoned by him, or his pale golden hair; I couldn’t stop illustrating the scene when such a wisp of soft hair trembling through my fingers and slipped away with their owner; I once wanted to grasp those dreamy hair and forced his eyes fasten on me; I hopped…I was sick.  
I abandoned all these insane minds and forced myself to sleep.

That was the beginning of me and my friend Wakefield.

 

tbc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the Kaufield be with you.   
> :)

**Author's Note:**

> The story of this pair suddenly came to my mind, then I typed it down. I'm not sure now how will the story go, but I'm sure it will be the first gift to this fandom "Kaufield".  
> May the Kaufield be with you.


End file.
